


Black Tie

by extree



Series: Higher Education [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extree/pseuds/extree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Gold would rather die than attend another one of those awful formal occasions for rich alumni and desperate faculty on his own, so he decides to bring his girlfriend and make a date of it. Whether showing up with his former student on his arm is a good idea remains to be seen. Especially when Belle seems to be in one of her charming but rather demanding moods. Alternate summary: Things happen on the rooftop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Tie

**Author's Note:**

> There's no excuse for this fic and I'm vaguely ashamed. I meant to get started on other projects, but these two just... keep happening. It's a oneshot with very little bearing on the grand scheme of things. (Not that there's a grand scheme.) Maybe this is the right time to mention that whichever AU incarnation of Belle I write, there's always just a little hint of Lacey in there. Soooo... yes. Bye.

“Do you think this will do? I’ve never been to one of these things before…”

It was like she’d poured herself into her little black dress, and he didn’t quite know where to look. This was the sixth dress she’d shown him, and it was getting progressively more difficult to pretend he wasn’t completely enthralled, because the truth was that Gold was a little more fashion-minded than he liked to let on. When he was little, all he wanted was a doll to dress up, but there was no way of voicing that wish without getting the shite kicked out of him immediately after, so he’d never really told anyone. There was something about the simple act of covering your bare skin with something that was completely foreign to it that fascinated him. Kind of like a masquerade, only no-one really acknowledged it as such. He liked his expensive suits and ties, like a soft armor keeping the easily intimidated away. Ah, but what he loved especially were Belle’s dresses. There was only so much dressing up you could do as a man without getting branded some sort of raging flamboyant eccentric, after all. Perhaps it was all a bit of a vicarious thing, his appreciation of her wardrobe.

He loved seeing her in different textures and colors and shapes and marveled at how she could change the entire look of something by pulling her hair to this side or that, rejecting one pair of shoes for another, adding a bracelet or removing a necklace or putting on her eyeliner just little bit thicker. It was mesmerizing to watch the entire thing unfold. He was obvious about it, he knew that. He stared openly, smiled freely and gave his opinion when she asked for it without a hint of irony and with carefully chosen words. But it was alright, because it was Belle, and he felt safe with her. He would gladly hand her all of his little quirks and oddities because he knew she would keep them safe between them.

“Stunning,” he murmured. She smiled and moved closer, took his hand and placed it on her hip.  
“Feel that. Don’t you just love this fabric?” she said. He moved his thumb in circles and sure, the fabric was pleasant to the touch, but her body heat underneath it was far more interesting at the moment, and they couldn’t be starting something like that right now, or they’d never make it out of the door.  
“The blue one is my absolute favorite, but this one feels right for the occasion.”  
“I agree. I want us to match, tonight,” she replied.

He watched her as she moved to the dresser where she’d put all her bobby pins and hair ties and clips and what have you and began to twist and pull her lovely long hair up into a construction he couldn’t quite figure out. She’d left her red lipstick there last time she stayed over, and he’d left it in exactly the same place, which seemed to make her smile. He had no idea why she insisted he come pick her up early so she could get ready at his place, but he wasn’t going to object to the prospect of spending even more time with her.

She’d spent the last week at her father’s house, slowly getting him accustomed to the idea of… well, of _him_ , he supposed. And it was all very necessary, and it was so very good of her not to keep putting this off, and yes, it was the right thing to do, but God, did he ever miss her. Would she stay the night? He didn’t want to ask. Maybe if the night went well, she would just… end up here. With him. In his arms and in his bed. Their bed.

When he came to pick her up at her father’s house, she was already waiting out front with a bag full of dresses and he’d laughed because he was honestly convinced she’d moved most of her clothes to his closet already. And so he’d spent the last hour or so watching her change into every dress she’d brought, making comments in between sips of wine (he’d long since learned not to head to these things sober) and some outrageous flirting on her part. (“Unzip me?” “You don’t need my help. I saw you zip it up, earlier.” “I’m seducing you. Play along.”)

He could see her face reflected in the mirror above the dresser. She spotted his sneaky little look and shot him a smile.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, holding one earring up and comparing it to the one she’d already put on.  
“No. I want to stay here and drag you into this bed so I can peel that dress off you, lovely though it is.”  
“That’s not what I meant,” she giggled. She decided to go with the earrings she was already wearing. He liked those best, too. She dropped the other pair somewhere near her lipstick and Gold knew that’s where they would be staying for the foreseeable future. It was like she was slowly moving her things into his house, bit by bit, and he didn’t mind. Not at all.

She sat down next to him on the bed and her warm hand on his knee made him smile.

“What I meant is, are you sure you want me to come with you? I know we’re not doing anything wrong, but won’t people talk?”  
“People do nothing but talk.”

He’d thought about it, of course. And sure, if anyone recognized her, they’d immediately wonder when the whole thing got started, but he was not about to let that scare him into leaving his love at home. She was his girlfriend, for fuck’s sake, and if ever there was a reason to play the ‘You _could_ fire me, but then you’d have to find another rich professor who cares enough about the fate of this institution to write the occasional massive check’ card, this would be it. He didn’t think it would come to that, though. People he worked with had a tendency to mind their own business. That was a good thing, for the most part, until they started turning a blind eye to the more egregious goings-on around campus. But that was all beside the point. She was his plus one, and that was that.

“You don’t care what they might say about us?” she asked, her bright eyes scanning his for the truth.  
“Do you?”  
“I’m not the one who works there. I’m just worried they might think… you know. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

He leaned in and caught her soft lips with his own. A brief, feather light touch so as not to get her lovely red lipstick on his lips. When he pulled away, she smiled and reached up to straighten his bow tie, her fingers tugging the fabric this way and that.

“You’re my girlfriend,” he said. “I’m not going to hide you away like some dirty little secret. If anything, you should be hesitant about being seen in public with an old decrepit-“  
“Shhhh!” she hissed, her finger placed against his lips, shutting him up. “I liked where you were heading with that dirty little secret thing, but then you messed it all up.”  
“Alright, I’m sorry,” he laughed, pressing a quick kiss to the sensitive spot below her ear. “Forget that last part, then.”  
“You need to _not_ kiss me there again if you want to make it on time, handsome,” she purred with a charming little shiver.

And it was tempting to just launch himself at her and lick and nip at that spot until she was a whimpering mess in his hands, but he could hear the taxi pull up outside, and well, perhaps when (if) he took her back to his house later tonight, it would taste even sweeter.

The entire affair was held in one of the larger rooms with tall ceilings and dark furniture and a great mass of mostly balding men in ill-fitting suits and tuxedos and bored looking women who looked entirely like they wanted to bolt and run towards the nearest bar instead. He couldn’t blame them. These things were awful.

He tried not to pay too much attention to the stares they were getting - and they were getting quite a few. Belle had her arm hooked in his and was giggling and whispering silly things into his ear, and if he just focused on that, he could even see himself having a good time, tonight. They needed champagne for that, of course, and she very sweetly offered to go get them some.

He should have gone with her, in hindsight.

“My my, Gold,” came a thunderous voice from behind him just as he was appreciating the sight of Belle trying to track down a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses like a hunter trying to track prey.  
“You’ve got yourself a fine piece of-” Oh _fuck_ no.  
“Lewis, I’m going to stop you there. Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”  
“My good man! I do apologize! I didn’t mean to-“  
“And while I’ve got your attention, stop ogling the catering staff. They’re not getting paid nearly enough to be at the receiving ends of your lecherous looks.”  
“Why do you care? Are any of the other students you’re fucking on duty tonight?”

Well. Gold wasn’t a particularly violent man. He rarely saw the need to resort to physicality where other, more elegant solutions could be applied; but right now he wanted to take this greasy-haired, smug-looking imbecilic excuse for a man by the throat and slam his head into one of the unsightly marble busts the university for some reason insisted on leaving about the place. He put on his trusted sneer and leaned a little closer.

“I’ve been on my best behavior since I moved to this country, Lewis, but make no mistake: I can destroy you. Mentally, financially, legally - I haven’t decided yet.”  
“Those are some impressive empty threats, Gold. I’m shaking in my boots.”  
“You know what happened to Roberts, don’t you?”  
“He got caught accepting bribes. I fail to see how his idiocy has anything to do with your dubious ability to make good on your threats.”  
“The students had been bringing it to the administration’s attention for years, only for it to be swept under the rug. Too much of a bother. Bad publicity. The usual shite. Isn’t it a marvelous coincidence that Roberts got what was coming to him shortly after I got wind of it?”

That shut him up for a moment. Lewis was fairly tall man but with absolutely nothing of a presence about him. Dull, uninspired, fading into the background of most social events until, of course, he saw it fit to make some sort of godawful remark. Then, he shone. Like a broken beer bottle in a landfill, mind. Not like something precious. The Political Science department’s most despised faculty member seemed to be processing what he’d just said with a blank look, until slowly he narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

“You’re full of shit, Gold.”  
“You know I’m not, but feel free to pretend if that makes you feel better. Try to act like a respectable human being. Fuck up, and I will ruin you. I’m sure I’ll find something to work with.”

Lewis looked sufficiently terrified and rushed off to make small talk with an even slimier bastard. Good, because there Belle came with a curt, fake smile and a slightly suspicious look in her eyes that told Gold that he might just be in trouble.

“What was that about?” she asked, handing him a glass of champagne.  
“What was what about, dear?”  
“You could cut the tension with a knife, Gold,” she replied, her eyes narrowed and her voice low. “Did he say anything?”  
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”  
“Excuse me?”

Oh. Fuck. No. That was not the thing to say, and he had gone and said it anyway. Now there was nothing else to do but to confess.

“Alright. He may have made an… untoward comment and I may have… reacted.”  
“What did you do?”  
“What did _I do_? Nothing, Belle! I just asked him sternly but politely to shut the fuck up. Not in those terms.”  
“Or what?”

She saw right through him. The Spanish Inquisition would have been a lot less bloody if they’d just had Belle French there to give the poor bastards a piercing look with those beautiful blues and ask them whether they were _sure_ they hadn’t been engaging in heretic practices.

“Nothing concrete,” he said meekly, shrugging. “Nothing violent, either. I promise. Are you angry?”  
“No,” she sighed. “Conflicted. I think.”  
“Conflicted? You think?”  
“I don’t want you antagonizing the people you work with because you feel the need to defend my honor. That’s unnecessary and potentially dangerous. But…”  
“But what?”

The look on her face confused him, because he almost recognized it, somehow. It wasn’t anger. Not even disappointment. She had a little color on her cheeks and a certain darkness in her eyes that made absolutely no sense until she wrapped herself around his arm, inched a little closer, stretched her pretty neck so her lips were almost touching the shell of his ear and murmured, “But I saw you glaring and growling and clenching your jaw, and I want to drag you off somewhere private and kiss you until my lips are sore because despite my best efforts, I’m ridiculously turned on right now.”

Incredible. She was unreal. She was going to give him a heart attack one day and he would die a happy man. To the roof, of course. Where else? They made it out of the building calm and collected, but once the door had shut behind them, her hands were in his hair and her lips at the base of his neck, and he had to reluctantly pry her off him so they could reach the Arts building without being spotted. Her hand in his, they walked (he limped) at a fast pace, pushed open doors, clambered up stairs, made it up on the roof and laughed, completely out of breath.

“Come here.”

She held her hands out to him, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out even if he wanted to. This was such a bad idea. She pulled him close and let go of his hands, so he splayed them against the brick exterior of the stairwell either side of her head. He’d never get used to those eyes because they never were quite the same shade of stunning blue depending on how the light hit them. Right now, they made him think of swimming pools in the summer when everyone had gone home; serene but oh so vibrant still in the pale moonlight.

She touched his cheek and he leaned in closer, sliding his nose against hers, bringing his lips as close to hers as he could without touching. Her hands were on his chest, now, sliding down to his hips, and there they stayed. The feel of her warm breath falling from her slightly parted lips to his was just too much, so he kissed her - hard - with one hand behind her head so it wouldn’t knock against the brick wall and his tongue pushing into her mouth with very little ceremony. Her hands pulled at his bow tie, blindly fiddled with the buttons of his dress shirt - exposed skin for her to scratch at - and then slid his jacket from his shoulders.

She made a little noise when he brushed his palm over her breast and he twitched and pushed himself up against her. She reached around to grab at him and pull him even closer, bucked up against him, mewled and made him want to rip that dress off her take her then and there. So he pulled away (which was hard because her teeth had just grabbed hold of his bottom lip) but only to have her lips latch onto his throat instead and her clever little hand slide down over his chest and lower still to grasp at him through the fabric of his trousers, and _God_ , did she realize what she was doing? A quick snog was one thing, but she was pushing this as far to the edge as she possibly could.

“Sweetheart, if you keep this up…”  
“Fuck me.”

Oh.

She span around to face the wall, splayed her hands against the bricks and gave him a certain look. The pale, moonlit skin of her shoulder contrasted with the faint blush on her face, the pitch black of her dress and the fiery red of her parted lips, and his heart nearly burst with the utter, sinful perfection of it all.

 _Oh_.

“Here?”  
“Condom’s in my purse.”

Of course it was. Jesus fucking Christ. He looked around, his mouth dry. This was the tallest building on campus, and he couldn’t immediately see how anyone could see them from any of the other buildings. The stairwell opened right in the middle of the roof, so they weren’t anywhere near the edge, where someone down below might look up and spot them going at it. No, if anyone were to bust them, they would have to walk right out of that door. (Or have rented a helicopter for the night.)

“Shouldn’t we find something to barricade the door with?”

The only answer to his question was her arched back and her soft flesh pushing into him, and fuck. _Fuck._ Apparently not.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.  
“I love you, and you turn me on,” came her breathy voice. “I’m sure.” As she turned her head towards his, he could just about catch the corner of her mouth with his lips in a clumsy kiss. It wasn’t enough. One arm still at her waist, circling tighter to make up for the other one moving away and up so he could catch her chin and tilt her head closer. He could really kiss her, now; fit their mouths together properly, slide his tongue in between her lips, deep.

His other hand found the hem of her dress, and when he hiked it up, she wriggled in a certain way that was probably meant to help the process along but threatened to end it prematurely, so with an embarrassed laugh, he broke the kiss and stilled her hips in his firm grip.

“You overestimate me, sweetheart.”  
“Just get my panties off, will you,” she breathed.

God, there wasn’t even a hint of laughter in her low voice. Not a trace of the slight embarrassment and fear he himself was feeling at the thought of doing something this quick and dirty in such a risky place. No, she was dead serious. All he could hear in her voice was lust, impatience, arousal; thick and palpable like something sweet and syrupy - and when he got her lace panties bunched at her knees and pushed his hand between her thighs, he knew for sure. It could never be said that Gold hadn’t had his share of illicit highs in his misspent youth, but nothing - absolutely fucking nothing - could even come close to the intoxicating mindfuck of a high that was turning on Belle French. Cocaine was all good and well if you were that type of complete, irredeemable arsehole, but to reach down between this woman’s legs and find her wet because of _you_ was a head rush he couldn’t even begin to describe.

His fingers knew what to do by now. His mind hardly had a say in the matter. It was instinctive. Purely tactile. He had the map of her body tattooed on the inside of his eyelids, knew just what to touch when for which delicious little noise to come out and everything he did was working like a charm until suddenly she pushed back against him with a little whine that was… new.

“Gold, come on,” she mewled, arching her neck back, exposing the skin to his hungry gaze.  
“I won’t last long.”  
“I don’t care.”

He reached down to pick up her abandoned purse. There was a condom in there, like she said, and he wasted no time in getting it on, tossing the wrapper somewhere over his shoulder. She gasped, sucked in air, bit her lip to stifle a long moan, and it was killing him how hot she was around him, how easily they fit together, how she pushed back and nearly threw him over the edge already.

He knew he wouldn’t last long, but earlier he had mistakenly thought that if he concentrated, he could make her come first, but wow. No. Not a chance. Not with the sounds she was making. Not with her breathy voice telling him to fuck her still echoing in his skull. He held her to him with crossed arms; a breast in one hand, her hip in the other, and they moved together like a perfectly fine-tuned machine until this particularly devious little noise she made in her throat with her teeth biting down on her lip made him lose himself completely, bury himself as deep as he could, come so hard he forgot to spare his ankle the full weight of his body and felt a stabbing pain, but all in all it was nothing more than a distant shout barely audible above the deafening sound of the thunderstorm in his head.

She wasn’t done, yet.

He grabbed her hips, turned her around, dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs, because there was no way she was making it off this roof without feeling even a fraction of what she had made him feel just then. She clutched at his hair, pushed and pulled, whimpered and moaned and he drowned in the taste and the feel of her until she shook, gasped, tensed and then slid down into his waiting arms a boneless bundle of skin and flesh and sweet little breaths against his collarbone.

She looked up at him and managed a half smile that made him want to cradle her to his chest and carry her home.

“You didn’t have to do that.”  
“I wanted to.”

He felt around for his tuxedo jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She murmured a soft, “Thanks, lover,” and kissed his cheek. All fire and explosions not even ten minutes ago, and now she was moonlight and a crisp early autumn breeze.

They must have made quite the sight, there. Both of them out of breath and disheveled - he on his knees and she with her legs curled up under her and held up by his straining arms. This wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position in the world in which to recover from what had just happened, but it was enough for now.

“So,” he said, piercing the silence. “Just so we’re clear on this; you _don’t_ like it when I threaten people?”  
“It’s complicated,” she giggled, playfully punching him in the shoulder with about the same force as a kitten’s head-butt. He mouthed a scream and cringed, because he’d never get tired of that joke for as long as it made her laugh.

A quick trip to the women’s restroom to make themselves presentable and dispose of the evidence (“I’m not supposed to be in here.” “You’re not supposed to fuck me on a rooftop either.”) and then they made their way back to the party so Gold could show his face one more time and claim to have done his duty to the school. They made their escape through the kitchen, and once they’d settled into the backseat of the taxi, he noticed it - the bottle of champagne in her lap.

“Belle. Did you steal that on your way out?”

He could feel his own grin stretching wider until it felt like his face was going to burst. Was he rubbing off on her? Was that not exactly what he’d done that night they met up on the roof for the second time? Stolen that bottle for the two of them? She gave him a devilish smirk and shrugged.

“I figured since we could have been arrested for public indecency, a hypothetical theft charge wouldn’t make that much of a difference.”  
“I like your thinking,” he said with more than just a little hint of pride in his voice, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. “Doesn’t work like that, but I like it.”  
“If the police come knocking later, I’m blaming your bad influence.”  
“Of course, love.”

Her little smile was adorable. Her eyes moved all over his face as if she were reading him like a book - and it looked like it was a particularly charming one.

“You know I’m staying the night, yeah?”  
“I was hoping you would.”  
“Good.”

She kissed his chin. In the morning, it would hurt to watch her pick up her clothes from the floor, get dressed and leave; but for now, his little champagne thief was warm and giddy in his arms, and he was happy.


End file.
